The Doctor and the Consulting Detective
by whimsical shadow
Summary: Sherlock is back and ready to take on the world. The Doctor finds himself stranded on Baker Street and decides to call on a former acquaintance: Molly Hooper. When a string of beastly murders finds its way on the Consulting Detective, he must reluctantly employ the help of a certain mousy pathologist and her eccentric friend. (AU)


Molly Hooper walked into the morgue at Bart's with a trey of surgical tools, ready to start on her post mortems. The first was a man, 46 years-old, died in a car accident. Molly frowned as she looked at his bruised face and wondered what kind of life he led. It was something she would do when she was alone in the morgue, imagine a whole life for the body that laid before her. For some people such thoughts would have made cutting them open harder, but not for the brown haired pathologist. Remembering that the bodies she worked on were once people and not just bodies kept her grounded, which is what made her good at her job.

Getting lost in the flow of work, Molly hadn't noticed that she was humming a tune of her own. The pathologist was working on her third and final body when the doors swung open with a bang!

Letting out a squeak of surprise, she recovered looking to who came through the door and was met with the sight of Sherlock, John, and Greg. Another pathologist was behind them carting in a body. Molly suppressed a sigh. She knew they and the new body were here because of a murder case. They would most likely ask for her help in performing the autopsy. There was a slight chance that they wouldn't, but that most likely wasn't going to happen. Not that she didn't like helping them, its just that she was hoping to get off work on time. It wasn't probable with Sherlock and his need to be thorough, to happen.

"Molly we have a body that needs your attention." Sherlock asked by stating the obvious.

It had been a year since he faked his death. Within that time he managed to disable over half of Moriarty's crime syndicate and secured the safety of his friends. But, that year hadn't changed his relationship with Molly. Contrary to what some had thought when they found out she helped him fake his death. He still spoke to her in scathing commands and he still made less than kind deductions on her appearance. Although the frequency of the latter had decreased considerably.

Truth was the last time she saw Sherlock was right after he saw John and Mrs. Hudson say their good byes to his tombstone. He neither texted nor visited Molly when he went into hiding and he didn't bother to have her there when he revealed that he was alive. It hurt the shy pathologist but she didn't mind too much (at least, that's what she told herself) she was use to it, really. This was the first time they had seen each other and he acted as if he'd never left. All for the better she supposed.

Giving her best smile, hoping Sherlock wouldn't deduce out loud that it was fake. She responded, "R-right, yeah, I'll get right on it, just let me sew this one back up."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, and let out a sigh of exasperation. "Fine but make it quick. There's a murderer on the loose for heaven's sake." He turned on his heel, exiting the morgue leaving his two companions behind.

"Thank you Molly." John said offering a kind smile.

"Yeah thanks Mol, and don't mind Sherlock. You know how much of a twit he can be sometimes." Greg said.

Molly nodded smiling. When they left she let the smile drop and closed her eyes against the painful twist in her heart. Sewing up the other man with haste and precision, she opened the new body bag. The petite woman almost gaged when her brown eyes rested on the mutilated personage. As a pathologist, Molly had seen some pretty disgusting things but this was something else. Long, deep gashes covered his body, they seemed to come in sets of four lacerations. Possibly from a large animal judging by the depth, like a lion. Unzipping the bag further, her suspicions found valid when a large chunk of his left thigh appeared to be bitten off.

Moving him onto a slab and removing what little of his clothing remained on him, Molly began to work. Looking over the wounds closely, she found a sliver of wood in one of the gashes. Taking out with a pair of tweezers, her expression tweaked into one of confusion. It wasn't a twig or wood chuck like she had thought, it was ply wood. Doing another once over the body, she found no other evidence of outside material such as twigs or leaves on the body. There weren't any grass stains on him either, from what she could tell.

If I were attacked by an animal of this size, it would most likely take place outside, but there isn't any evidence of the woods on him, the pathologist thought. Then the man wasn't killed outside. Looking at the body once again she realized that the lacerations and bite were inflicted post mortem. Biting the inside of her cheek she tried to make sense of it all but couldn't. That was Sherlock's department she reminded herself.

Deciding she had examined every external part of the body to satisfaction, Molly started digging deeper. Making a long incision in the middle of the torso, the pathologist gaged at the stench that permeated from the body. Using the back of her gloved hand to cover her nose and the other to lift some of the cut skin with the scalpel, Molly made a horrifying discovery. The man's insides had dissolved into a pustulant yellow slime. It was nothing she had ever seen before.

The autopsy finished, Molly carted some of the yellow slime into the lab. There awaited her a displeased looking Sherlock.

"Well it took you long enough." He snapped snatching the samples from her.

"Oh sorry. I-its just that, the body w-was pretty bad…" Molly began to explain the odd state of the victim's insides. But trailed off when it was obvious that the consulting detective wasn't listening. The pathologist instead looked over at John and asked, "Where did Greg go?"

"He had to go back to the Yard." The ex-army doctor replied and then after a moment asked, "How are you Molly?"

She opened to her mouth to speak but was cut off by a loud groan of frustration from the detective.

The blue eyed man rounded to face them. He looked over Molly and John, a cool expression gracing his features.

"Molly's going to tell that she's doing just fine John, which is an obvious lie. If your unkempt appearance, which isn't unusual but you at least make sure your socks match before you leave your flat, today you didn't. So you slept through your alarm this morning. The bags under your eyes suggest that you haven't been sleeping well as of late and the stain on the inside of your sleeve tells us that you had a glass of wine for breakfast this morning. Obvious signs of stress. Now why are you stressed Doctor Hooper? I suppose the mixture of having to work more demanding hours here at Bart's, coupled with the fact that your younger brother is getting married while you find yourself turning into a spinster has you on your last nerve. There's also the disaster of a date you went on last night, if the traces of make up and the scent of stale hair spray are anything to go by. Your life has discovered a new level of dull. Now if we could please stop with the idle chit chat, there's a case that needs our attention." Sherlock finished.

Molly looked at him and he looked back, blue eyes piercing. She was shaking with the effort of containing her overwhelming desire to cry. Wrapping her arms around herself trying to keep it together. She turned and got to work in a corner on the opposite end of the lab. Her back turned to them. The pathologist rubbed the tears brimming her eyes with the back of her hand, took a deep breath, and began to work.

John was livid. Sherlock could tell by his clenched jaw and his flushed complexion. The dark haired man raised an eye brow in question to his companion, which elicited an eye roll from the other man.

"Sherlock! Apologize to Molly." The blond ordered in a harsh whisper so the pathologist in question couldn't hear.

"Why? Did I do something wrong?" His friend asked, turning back to the microscope. It had then dawned on him that Molly hadn't laid out the tissue samples for him. How annoying…

"W-wrong… Yes you did something wrong! Surely you and all your intelligence can see you have upset her." Came the angry response.

"It did cross my mind. Although I have no idea why I upset her it's not like I didn't say anything that wasn't true." The detective said, distracted. Where on earth are those samples?

John could have hit him right then and enjoyed it. Be that as it may, he managed to respond through his supressed rage, "It doesn't matter if it's true or not, you sod. You humiliated her, like you did that one Christmas, so apologize." The blue eyed detective rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated 'fine'. Before he could make his way to Molly (he needed those samples anyways) the door to the the lab burst open.

"Molly Hooper!" A cheery voice greeted. "I haven't seen you in ages. How are… Molly? Are you crying?" The man who strode in was, in a word, peculiar. He wore a tweed suit jacket, red bow tie, white button-down, suspenders, and dark slacks. His brown hair parted off to the side a few strands falling over his forehead. There was something in the way he held himself that gave off the impression he was somewhat eccentric.

The man walked over to Molly in easy strides, his gait relaxed and casual, if not a bit clumsy, and threw his arms around her in a tight hug.

"Doctor." She greeted. Her voice muffled from his shoulder. He released her from his hold, settling with placing his hands on her shoulders.

"Why are you crying Molly Hooper?" The 'doctor' asked, concerned.

"Oh erm… I'm not, it's the, um, chemicals. They're making me tear up." Molly lied, or at least attempted to. Instead of calling her out on it though, he nodded, seeing that this wasn't the time to press. Turning to the other two people in the room The Doctor's face lit with a smile.

"Look other people! I'm afraid I don't know either of you." He walked over to them, eyes squinted scrutinizing them.

John stepped forward with his hand out stretched and said, "John Watson, a pleasure to meet you. And this is my flatmate Sherlock Holmes." The doctor shook his hand with vigor and then turned to Sherlock for a hand shake. The detective regarded him with contempt but shook his hand regardless.

"It's nice to meet you. I'm the Doctor." Sherlock and John shared a look.

"Well do you have a name?" John queried, confusion evident on his face.

"Yes. In fact, I have many names but I prefer the Doctor." The man responded, clapping his hands behind his back whilst looking to the two men. They on their part had come to a silent agreement that this man was certifiably insane.

"What, exactly, are you a doctor of? Medicine, poetry, wine?" Sherlock mocked glancing over him, starting to make deductions.

"Yes." Came the enthusiastic response.

"Doctor what are you doing here?" Molly asked, cutting in.

The Doctor turned to her and slung his arm over her shoulders in a casual, familiar manner. "I'm stranded here I'm afraid. The TARDIS isn't working. Something's interfering with her… Well that's all technical mumbo-jumbo I don't want to bore you with. We ended up crashing on Baker Street. This lovely woman I met, Mrs. Hudson, she's letting me stay in a basement flat until I fix the problem. Mrs. Hudson said something about the people living upstairs and St. Bart's. That's when I remembered you worked at St. Bart's and decided to pay you a visit."

"That's horrible, about the TARDIS breaking down. On the plus side John and Sherlock are the people that live in the flat above you."

"Well look at that. Small world!"

"I'm sorry but how do you two know each other?" John asked, trying to figure out was a 'TARDIS' was.

"We met when she first started working here. Went on quite a lovely adventure too." The Doctor responded smiling.

Sherlock decided he was irritated with this mans presence. He couldn't quite come to any sort of conclusion about him with confidence. It wasn't that he couldn't read the odd 'doctor', it was quite the opposite, there was too much to read. But what annoyed him the most was that the doctor's arm was around Molly, which surprised and irritated the detective more. There was no logic behind the way his heart twisted whilst watching this peculiar character bestow his pathologist with affection so casually, even when he could see their relationship was platonic.

"You're a skilled mechanic and engineer. An inventor perhaps?" Sherlock changed the subject abruptly. He didn't want to hear about their 'lovely adventure'. The Doctor looked at him, blue eyes gleaming with delight.

"Yes! And your a detective, quite good at it too might I add. I'm guessing you were doing that thing where you read people just then." The Doctor stated.

"Good guess." The detective was surprised but he didn't allow himself to show it.

"I read an article about you in the paper before I got here. So what kind of mystery are you working on now?" Sherlock relaxed, relieved to know the other man couldn't deduce him. But, his annoyance reappeared with the way the Doctor said mystery. As if his work was a child's game.

"It isn't a 'mystery'," the detective sneered, "it's a case. A man, Dante Thomas, was found brutally murdered in his home." Then he added as an after thought, "It sounded tedious at first. But when it was evident that he was not killed in his own home or from one of his many wounds the case became a 9.7."

"Do any of your cases actually get a 10?" John asked eye brow raised.

"Yes, John. The tens were Moriarty and his schemes." Sherlock rolled his eyes. Then said, "John I need you to talk to the Thomas family, gather information. If you'd like you can tag along with him…Doctor." The Time Lord's eyes lit up with excitement as he nodded, enthusiastic. He began to follow John out of the morgue and then turned towards Molly abruptly.

"By the way Molly dear, you can stay with me at 221C if you'd like. At least until you can find another flat to move into." The pathologist's eyes widened with surprise, her mouth agape.

"How did you…" She trailed off, confusion tying her tongue.

"I went to your flat and saw the notice of eviction and all the boxes stacked inside." The Doctor replied to her half asked question.

"You went inside my flat?"

"Of course. Had to make sure you were okay, turns out you weren't home. What do you say? I'll stay in the TARDIS, so you have your privacy." The brunet looked at her imploringly.

"Umm, I don't know…"

"I don't take I don't know or no for an answer." He pressed.

"…I guess yes is the only answer I can give then."

"Perfect! Good bye you two." In a whirl he left after John.

The consulting detective berated himself, he should have known Molly was being evicted. It was obvious now that he looked at her. There was always something.

They worked in silence for quite some time.

Sherlock wasn't as focused as he should have been. He was going over in his mind how he was going to apologize and broach the subject of why she was being evicted. He also wanted to know more about this 'Doctor' character. And dealing with the sudden…agitation he felt at the idea of them sharing a living space with each other, which was illogical.


End file.
